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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25339660">50 Words or Fewer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl'>firstdegreefangirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Chenford Week 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Rookie (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A little bit of angst, Awkward Silences, Background Relationships, Challenge Accepted, Character Growth, Daisy put me up to this, F/M, Feeling is Mutual, Happy Ending, I had to fudge the counts a little bit, Non-Graphic Violence, Partner Swapping, Silent Treatment, Switch-up, Tim doesn't care for Nyla, Written on a Dare, background Chenford, but I needed to for the ending, but at work, but just a smidge - Freeform, settling differences, tim gets a tiny bit shot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:48:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,125</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25339660</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>But if they have to sit in the shop for eight consecutive hours today, Tim is damn sure going to win at it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Chenford Week 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827838</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chenford Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>50 Words or Fewer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargazerdaisy/gifts">stargazerdaisy</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Me: what if Tim and Nyla had to ride together an entire shift?<br/>Daisy: it'd be hilarious to watch but hard to make a fic, because we both know they wouldn't say more than 50 words to each other all day<br/>Me: Challenge. Accepted.</p><p>(counts in the end notes)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Alright, with Officer Nolan helping Detective Lopez serve warrants for the Henson homicide investigation, partners for today are as follows: Officer Chen, you will be riding with Officer West today, and Officer Harper, I’m partnering you with Officer Bradford.” </p><p>Tim watches Lucy and Jackson high-five where they’re sitting next to each other at roll call and carefully restrains himself from rolling his eyes as he folds his arms across his chest.  </p><p>Of course the day that they mix things up, the day he’s not riding on his own, floating around LA as backup for whichever unit needs a hand, he has to ride with Harper. She’s not a detective anymore, says she likes the shift hours better on the streets. Usually she rides with West, and Lucy rides with Nolan.  </p><p>But apparently Grey is shuffling everyone around today, so Tim is sentenced to eight hours dealing with a superiority complex in an officer half a decade younger than him, with fewer years on the force. </p><p>Maybe he’ll take Lucy out to dinner tonight, reward them both if he manages to survive his day.  </p><p>He catches up with her around the corner, waiting outside the armory window to pick up their gear bags and shop keys. There are enough other officers milling around that he doesn’t look out of place when he steps up behind Lucy and presses his palm against the small of her back, right above the edge of her vest. There’s an extra inch of fabric between them, but he can tell that she feels him there. She leans back, letting him take a little bit of her weight, and he bends down to put his face right next to his ear. </p><p>“Hey, head down today,” he murmurs, just like he does every time he can steal a moment with her before a shift, every chance he’s gotten for the last three months. He knows there’s no sense in telling her to watch out, no reason she shouldn’t run headlong into danger. That’s the job, it’s what they both signed up to do with their lives.  </p><p>But if she keeps her head down while she does it, she’ll come home at the end of the day. Whatever else happens, they can face it together.  </p><p>“You too.” Lucy turns around just far enough to kiss him gently. “And be nice.”  </p><p>“I’m always nice.” Lucy scrunches her nose up at that, and Tim can’t help but laugh a bit at how cute his girlfriend is. “I’ll be professional.” </p><p>“Good enough. See you tonight?”  </p><p>“See you tonight.” Tim steps up to stand beside her at the window, each of them taking two sets of duffel bags and a keyring. He lets her walk out ahead of him, follows her to the garage and passes the bags off to Nyla as he matches her pace.  </p><p>She rolls her eyes when she takes them, but doesn’t comment as she pulls the hatch open and drops the bags in the back of the SUV.  </p><p>By the time she makes it around to the driver’s side door, Tim is already sitting in the seat, fitting the key into the ignition. Still, Nyla pulls the door open.  </p><p>“I’m driving today.” There’s little room for argument in her tone, but Tim isn’t about to back down. </p><p>“Funny, I thought this was the driver’s seat.”  </p><p>“I outrank you.” She points between them, arms still crossed tightly over her chest.  </p><p>“Not in my shop you don’t.” </p><p>Nyla opens her mouth like she’s getting ready to say something else, refuse to drop the issue, fight toe-to-toe right out of the gate and set the tone for their entire day together. </p><p>But the officer in the shop behind them honks, and the noise reverberates just enough to startle both of them. Tim raises his eyebrows, rests a hand on the gearshift. But he composes himself and wipes the smirk off of his face before Nyla can walk around the vehicle and buckle herself in on the passenger side. </p><p>Tim slides the car into gear and pulls onto the streets, hoping for a busy enough day that he won’t have to spend too long patrolling with the uncomfortable silence between them. </p><p>But if they have to sit in the shop for eight consecutive hours today, Tim is damn sure going to win at it.  </p><p>Which means, first of all, that he’s driving. He’s not about to relinquish that much control. Besides, if he’s driving, then he can glance at Harper while he’s pretending to check his mirrors and see which direction she’s looking.  </p><p>Then turn the opposite direction. </p><p>And he knows that this isn’t what Lucy meant when she told him to be nice. But he could be a lot more hostile, he knows that too, and he has to entertain himself somehow. Otherwise he’ll have to make small talk, and he just doesn’t want to do that all day.  </p><p>A man can only take so much talk about shared custody and ballet class in one shift. </p><p>So he drives in silence, watching the way Harper’s eyes roll with every corner, silently daring her to say something. If she’d point out an actual crime, he’s gladly pursue it. But as things are, she hasn’t said a word, so he’ll keep turning right when she looks left. </p><p>Her shoulders bristle every time, hackles up as she watches him out the corner of her eye. Tim isn’t sure if it’s possible for her hair to be judging him too, but he does know that if it can be, it is. That’s just how hard she’s focusing her energy on how irritated she is.  </p><p>Just when Tim is beginning to wonder if he should find a new angle, maybe throw Harper off her game by turning the way she’s looking just once, the radio cuts through the silence. It also cuts some of the tension, gives them a tangible part of the job to focus on. </p><p><em> Seven-Adam-07, robbery in progress, </em> <em> pretzel stand at </em> <em> southeast corner of </em> <em> Formosa Park.  </em> </p><p>Tim dives forward for the radio in the center of the car as Nyla reaches for the one on her hip.  </p><p>“Seven-Adam-07 respo-” they’re half a beat from speaking in unison, Harper just a breath ahead of him. They both stop and glare at each other, and when it doesn’t look like she’s going to take the lead, Tm presses the button and starts over. </p><p>Right as Nyla has the same idea.  </p><p>“Seven-Adam-Oh-” Tim cuts himself off, rolls his eyes. He sighs, like he’s about to make the sort of great concession that should earn him an accommodation. When Nyla cuts her eyes over to him, he waves his hand.  </p><p>He could keep talking over her, eventually get her to acquiesce and let him take the lead on the response. But there’s a robbery in progress, and he has a duty to serve and protect the citizens of Los Angeles. </p><p>And that comes before his need to prove his superiority to Nyla, even if only just barely.  </p><p>So he sighs, plasters his best dealing-with-the-public smile onto his face and lets his tone convey his mood perfectly. </p><p>“Go ahead, <em> detective,” </em>He knows it isn’t her title anymore, knows she gave that up voluntarily, but still can’t help himself from sticking it onto the end of his sentence. Tim holds the shop radio out for her to take, but she scoffs and uses her own instead.  </p><p>As he pulls around a median to head back toward the park, he comes to a decision. Regardless of what Lucy said, he’s only going to play as nicely as Harper does today. And refusing the almost-olive branch he’d offered when he extended the radio toward her?  </p><p>Well that wasn’t very nice at all. </p><p><em> So </em> <em> it’s on. </em> </p>
<hr/><p>He pulls up alongside a curb, but there’s still a couple blocks of park they have to walk through before they reach the pretzel stand. Like everything else today, it’s a silent competition, both of them trying to keep their pace just a couple strides ahead of the other.  </p><p>Every time Harper speeds up, Tim lengthens his stride. And every time he pulls back into the lead, she doubles down and moves ahead of him again. </p><p>By the time they get to the kiosk, even though they’re almost running, the “robbery in progress” has ended.  </p><p>Not that they’ve failed, because some scrawny teenager wearing roller skates is sitting on the back of a man almost twice his size, scrolling through his phone like there’s nothing out of the ordinary. </p><p>Tim and Nyla see him at the same time, and he notices the way she redoubles her efforts to outpace him, trying to be the first one to reach what’s almost certainly going to be the most interesting part of this call. </p><p>He’s still just as smart as her, if not smarter, though, so Tim stops walking and pulls his notebook out when he’s still a few feet away. </p><p>“You, what’s your name?”  </p><p>“Parker.” The kid looks up, evidently realizing for the first time that there’s someone here for the guy he’s pinning down. “Took you guys long enough.” </p><p>“Yeah, well we weren’t exactly in the neighborhood. Mind if I ask you a couple questions, talk to your buddy here, while Officer Harper chats with the pretzel guy? We’ll need your side of things.”  </p><p>She turns around just long enough to stare daggers at him before striding over to the kiosk employee, just like he’d known she would.  </p><p>Because at the end of the day, even if they’re both willing to play these kinds of games, be their own unique shades of petty and bitter, she’s a professional. Just like Tim. And the professional thing to do was relent and let him take the lead after he yanked it out of her hands.  </p><p>Chalk it up, two for Bradford.  </p><p>The interviews and reports are pretty straightforward. Tim’s roller-skating witness saw the suspect robbing the pretzel stand and rolled in front of him as he tried to run off. When they both fell into a tangle of limbs, Parker sat down and called 911, holding the other man there until police could arrive.  </p><p>After Nyla interviewed the victim, Tim had her walk the suspect over to the shop. It was a short order, unremarkable in his gruffness, but not the kind of self-righteousness he’s been building on all morning.  </p><p>It doesn’t take long before he’s got Parker’s information on a report form and Parker is slipping Tim’s card into his wallet.  </p><p>Tim isn’t leading a suspect, though, which means that he can jog the distance back to the shop, make his way back around to the driver’s side just as Nyla is closing the door on their suspect. She presses her lips into a thin line as she slides back into her seat, and Tim can’t tell if the vibrations under them are from the engine roaring to life or the force of her eyes rolling back in their sockets. </p><p>Neither of them say anything on the short ride back to the division, but the silence between them speaks volumes. Even with their first arrest of the day under their belts, Tim has a feeling that his afternoon isn’t going to be any easier to tolerate.  </p><p>He pulls into the carport and kills the engine. As he reaches for the door, Nyla holds up a hand to stop him.  </p><p>“It’s my arrest. I’ll book him.” </p><p>“Yep.” Tim pops the ‘p’ sound, making it clear that he couldn’t possibly care less who processes the suspect, other than that it creates less paperwork for him. In fact, he’s excited to have a few minutes to himself, a little bit of time to sit in the break room and suck down a cup of coffee.  </p><p>It isn’t fresh, tastes like the same pot he was drinking from at roll call, except stale and lukewarm. But it’s enough to distract him from his frustrating morning. Besides, he’d long ago made his peace with mediocre excuses for coffee to keep him going on the long days.  </p><p>And he hasn’t had a longer day than today in recent memory.  </p><p>He drinks the flimsy Styrofoam cup half empty before sliding his phone out of his pocket and tapping across the screen to message Lucy. </p><p><em> Lunch?  </em> </p><p><b> <em> Depends </em> </b> <b> . </b> Her reply is almost immediate, and Tim doesn’t even try to keep the smile off of his face. The animated ellipsis is still bouncing across the screen, so he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, just waits for the next message to appear. <b> <em> Behaving yourself? </em> </b> </p><p><em> Always. </em> </p><p><b> <em> Tacos?  </em> </b> </p><p><em> Whatever you want. Let you know when we’re through booking. </em> </p><p>She replies with a thumbs up, a little cartoon that Tim shouldn’t find anywhere near as endearing as he does.  </p><p>He puts the phone back in his pocket and wanders back toward the booking area to find Nyla. She’s just handing their suspect off to the processing officers, so he leans against the wall and waits until she’s finished signing the last form. When she turns back toward him, he holds the keys out, dangling them from one finger by the metal ring.  </p><p>But before she can reach for them, Tim flips his hand around and catches them in his palm.  </p><p>“Lunchtime?” It’s a question, but they both know he’s not really asking. Especially since he’s still the one holding the car keys. </p><p>“Sure.” </p><p>This time, it’s Tim’s turn to roll his eyes at her flat tone. It’s almost one in the afternoon; she has to be hungry. Besides, it’s not like he picked something she won’t like. He knows perfectly well that she and Jackson eat there at least once a week or so. </p><p>Not that he really wanted to know that, but dating Lucy means spending time at Lucy’s apartment at least occasionally. And that means that he has to at least occasionally chat with her roommate, and food is a safe, neutral topic.  </p><p>So he knows that Harper likes the taco truck, knows that it’s a good central location for Mid-Wilshire officers looking for a bite to eat on shift.  </p><p>But he doesn’t tell Harper that’s where they’re going, makes a point of taking the long way so they pull up from the back side and pulls his shop up alongside Lucy’s. Neither of them say a word as they walk side by side up to the table where the younger officers are already sitting.  </p><p>“Hey, Luce. Room for two more?” Tim squeezes her shoulder as he comes up behind her and throws a leg over the picnic bench, straddling it because he knows he’ll have to get back up to order in a moment, but wants to say hello first.  </p><p>“Mmm, I dunno. Jackson, what do you think?” </p><p>“I think we only let them in if they know the secret password.” Jackson grins as he looks up. </p><p>“How about ‘you didn’t really think this switch-up would mean you missed out on lunch with me?” Nyla deadpans and Tim sighs as he leans into Lucy’s personal space. </p><p>“Is the password ‘sure would like to eat lunch with my pretty girlfriend on a very, <em>very </em>long shift’?” </p><p>She smirks, but lolls her head toward him.  </p><p>“You need a number and a punctuation mark, but I suppose I can make an exception just this once.”  </p><p>“Good. I was hoping you would.” He kisses the top of her head as he stands up and walks over to the truck to place his order.  </p><p>Nyla follows him to the window, but they wait in line just as silently as they’ve done everything else all day. He hears her snort when he orders a second cup of horchata, but it’s worth it for the look on Lucy’s face when he slides it in front of her.  </p><p>Let Harper judge him; he doesn’t care as long as Lucy will keep smiling at him life that.  </p><p>They ignore one another through lunch as well. Tim knows he has to tolerate Nyla all afternoon, so he doesn’t want to squander what little resilience he has left, what little energy remains for dealing with her particular abilities to get under his skin.  </p><p>He’s just finished the last bite of his food, is hoping to have another 15 minutes or so to sip on his drink and enjoy the warm sun and company of his girlfriend and her best friend.  </p><p>Of course, this isn’t his day, hasn’t been since it began, so why should he catch a break now either?  </p><p>The radio on his belt crackles to life, a short static burst before he and Nyla are being dispatched to the scene of an accident. He reaches back to grab it and respond, and as he stands up, he notices that the shop keys aren’t where he left them sitting on the table.  </p><p>Then he looks up and sees Nyla jogging ahead of him, pressing a button and making the headlights flicker. He curses under his breath, looks down at Lucy as she wraps a hand around his wrist. </p><p>“Don’t kill her. She’s fun at girls’ night.” Lucy’s eyes twinkle with amusement, but Tim knows that she isn’t joking. He pulls his arm away just far enough to slide their palms together and squeeze her fingers gently. </p><p>“No promises.” He kisses her quickly and follows Nyla’s path to the shop, a sinking feeling building in his stomach. </p><p>He’s pretty sure he’s seen the last good moment he’ll have at work today. </p>
<hr/><p>The accident scene is straightforward, one car into the back of the other at a stoplight, pushing the first car into the intersection to have its front bumper clipped by a pickup truck going through.  </p><p>All three vehicles are still blocking traffic, will be until a tow truck arrives. As soon as the shop is stopped, before Nyla even has the key out of the ignition, Tim is opening his door and approaching the victimized driver.  </p><p>“Hi, I’m Officer Bradford. Is anyone in your vehicle injured?” They’re not, so as soon as he checks up on the other two drivers, he’s able to start the report paperwork, diagramming the scene and getting everyone’s statements. </p><p>It looks like he’s being helpful, taking the brunt of the work and setting himself up to do more of the paperwork afterward. He’s giving Nyla an easy afternoon, and no officer in their right mind would complain about that.  </p><p>Of course, her easy afternoon is directing traffic for 45 minutes until the tow truck arrives to haul the totaled sedan out of the intersection.  </p><p>Tim watches her as he leans against the front of the shop and writes his report, and it’s easy to see that she thinks this is a waste of her training.  </p><p>She’s not wrong, and Tim knows that. If people can’t figure out how to drive around a stopped car without hitting another car, they probably shouldn’t be licensed drivers.  </p><p>But Tim doesn’t write the laws, nor does he create department policies. So when there’s a disabled vehicle blocking more than one lane of traffic, an on-duty, uniformed officer must direct the flow of traffic around the obstruction until it is cleared.  </p><p>If this afternoon with Nyla doesn’t kill him, the idiocy of the public might just finish the job.  </p><p>It truly is a coincidence that he wraps up the last page of the last report just as the tow truck drags the car away. Harper rolls her shoulders and cracks her neck as she walks back to the shop, and Tim decides, in a rare moment of generosity, not to push the envelope and insist on driving again.  </p><p>Besides, it leaves his hands free to answer the radio if they get another call.  </p><p>Which they do, not 15 minutes later and just half an hour before the shift is supposed to end.  </p><p>It’s Jackson’s voice, requesting backup at a shots fired call. Tim lurches forward in his haste to pull the radio from his belt and respond.  </p><p>(Later, he’ll look back on the moment and be impressed, remembering the first day he rode with Jackson as a rookie, stacking the deck so he’d have all the riskiest and most intense calls, forcing him to get over any trepidation he had about facing off with an armed suspect. There’s not an ounce of hesitation in his voice this time, and Tim is pleased to hear the way he’s handling the situation.) </p><p>But now, there’s no time for that. Because Jackson is under fire, asking for backup, and Lucy is his partner today.  </p><p>So Lucy is under fire, and he feels his heart drop to his stomach as he looks over at Nyla.  </p><p>She doesn’t say anything, but she nods once and Tim knows she understands. She knows how important any ‘shots fired’ call is, but this one especially, because Lucy is involved. </p><p>He hears the engine rev as Harper’s foot pushes into the accelerator a little harder. She’s pushing the SUV as hard as she can, taking corners faster than they have all day and ignoring traffic signals whenever she can do so safely.  </p><p>When they pull up out front, Tim recognizes the house immediately. He’s been here before, dozens of times, and knows there’s nothing good lying behind the front door, which is hanging crooked, kicked off of one hinge.  </p><p>He and Nyla look into the house, then at each other. </p><p>“Ready for this?” He lifts an eyebrow and slides his Glock out of its holster as he cracks the door open. </p><p>“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” </p><p>“No, let’s get in there.” He doesn't have time to belabor the point, not when they’re listening for more gunshots to ring out, knowing that whatever’s going on inside could get immeasurably worse in only a couple of seconds. </p><p>He takes the lead, nudging the door further open with his foot. The scene is unfolding before them, a man lying on the kitchen floor, gripping his thigh and writhing around in a growing puddle of blood. The man standing over him – who presumably fired the first shot – is standing over him, pointing a revolver at his chest.  </p><p>Jackson and Lucy stand behind him, slightly to either side, guns trained on the suspect. He hasn’t given them a reason to pull the trigger yet, but Tim doesn’t like the way he keeps twitching the barrel back and forth, pulling it up from his first victim and waving it slightly toward Lucy then over to Jackson before tipping it back toward the man on the ground. </p><p>“Drop your weapon!” Tim reaches the top of the stairs, lines his sites up with the suspect’s wrists – Lucy and Jackson can handle center mass, but he’s got a vantage point to shoot for the pistol itself, render the shooter unable to pull a trigger – and announces himself. “Drop your weapon and get on the ground!” </p><p>He steps to the side, giving Harper room to come up next to him and line up her own shot – femur, he thinks, from the looks of things.  </p><p>“Drop your weapon!” He says it again, watching the way the suspect eyes him warily. </p><p>The shooter pulls his hands up, and takes a careful step backward. Everyone stares at him, ready for him to make any sort of wrong move on his way to the ground.  </p><p>And sure enough, time slows down as the suspect turns toward Tim and Nyla. He’s just started bending down when he jerks sideways and Tim sees where the barrel is pointing.  </p><p>Tim moves on pure instinct, shoves Harper to the side and turns to let the center of his vest catch the bullet. The noise reverberates throughout the room, followed closely by a second shot. Tim watches Jackson recoil in slow-motion, his body absorbing the force from the Glock pushing back against his hands.  </p><p>He always forgets how much it hurts to get shot, even when the vest catches it. It’s almost more painful, in fact, than taking the hit directly. Because the vest stops the bullet from piercing his skin, but spreads the impact through his entire torso. Even before he’s hit the ground, Tim can feel it radiating across his ribcage. Distantly, he wonders how big the bruise will be in the morning, but before he can guess at an answer, the world starts moving full-speed again and he bounces off of the hardwood floor.  </p><p>As he lands, Tim’s head hits into the stair railing and the air is knocked out of his lungs. He lays there, gasping for breath and trying to take inventory of his limbs. Nothing is numb, or more pained than it should be for dropping full-force into the ground, other than the throbbing in the back of his skull. </p><p>Just when he’s started to think about sitting up, convinced that there’s no lasting damage from the impact of the bullet, Nyla’s face appears above him. </p><p>“You down?” She looks genuinely concerned, and Tim is surprised to find that he didn’t expect her to be this worried. As much as they find themselves at odds, they’re both LAPD officers and that comes before anything else.  </p><p>“Vest caught it.” He leans up on his elbows and winces as his ribs scream against him at the idea of movement.  </p><p>“Good.” She stares at him for a second, considering. “Mine would have too.” </p><p>Of course, of <em> course </em>everything is still a game of one-upsman with Harper, even as Tim is sitting on the floor with a wad of lead stuck in his Kevlar.  </p><p>“Yeah, but if it didn’t …" Because they both know that the vests aren’t a sure thing, that things go wrong on the job every damn day. “You’ve got a kid. More to lose than me.”  </p><p>He takes the hand Nyla extends, lets her pull him back to his feet and turn him toward the kitchen. </p><p>“Looks like you’ve got plenty to lose yourself.” She points, and Tim follows her finger to where Lucy is standing, frozen to her spot.  </p><p>Her eyes are flicking back and forth, between where Jackson is snapping handcuffs around the suspect’s wrists and examining the bullet wound in his shoulder. He radios for an ambulance and Lucy looks back to Tim.  </p><p>She doesn’t move, but he can see the way she’s trying to convince herself to shake off the stupor. Her eyes are wide, her mouth hanging slightly open as she stares at him.  </p><p>“Go. Talk to her, then I’ll drive you to the hospital for X-rays. You’ll need to get that head checked too; I heard the hollow echo from back here.” Harper nudges his shoulder, pushes him forward just far enough to get his feet moving.  </p><p>He’s still dazed as he crosses the kitchen, steps over the victim’s feet and checks  briefly that Nyla is behind him to help administer first aid until the ambulance arrives. </p><p>Then his focus is solely on Lucy, as he reaches out and cups her elbow gently. </p><p>“Hey, you doing OK?” Tim steps in close, leans down just far enough that he can whisper. This moment is for him and Lucy, not the lowlife sitting there in cuffs.  </p><p>“I’m not the one who got shot!” Her voice is higher pitched than usual, her eyes frantically scanning his face as she looks for injuries. Tim doesn’t move, lets her examine as long as she needs to.  </p><p>Finally, she throws herself at him, wraps her arms around his neck and clings. Tim staggers backward and sucks in a pained breath as he settles his hands on her waist and pushes her back. </p><p>“Ah, ah, ribs. Easy, Luce.” He blinks rapidly until the pain subsides, then looks back down at Lucy, who’s staring at his midsection. Her hands are hovering an inch away from the vest until he nods. Only then does she lean forward far enough to run her fingers across the front of his uniform. When she speaks, her voice is quiet, tinged with hesitation.  </p><p>“You … you’re alright?” </p><p>“I’ll be black and blue for a few days, but nothing that won’t heal. Harper’s taking me to get it checked out, make sure there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll call you after, pick up dinner on the way home?” </p><p>“Like I won’t be waiting in your driveway?” She laughs, but Tim can tell that it’s forced.  </p><p>“Fair enough.” He ignores the way his bones protest as he bends forward far enough to brush a kiss across her forehead. “See you later."  </p><p>He meets Nyla back at the shop, eases himself into the passenger seat without complaint. With the pain making its way through the rest of his body, he knows he’s in no shape to drive. Besides, the driver’s seat is further from the front door and Tim would really just like to sit down and close his eyes, get his head to stop pounding.  </p><p>She doesn’t say anything about it as she starts the engine, eases the shop toward Shaw Memorial.  </p><p>They’re just merging onto the highway when Harper looks over at him. </p><p>“Hey, Bradford …" she hesitates for a moment before she finishes her thought. “Thanks.”  </p><p>“Don’t worry about it. Like I said, she needs her mom.” It’s the truth, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat. Nyla’s daughter shouldn’t have to grow up without her, and he signed up to get shot at when he enlisted, then again when he became a cop. </p><p>He shifts in the seat, winces at the seatbelt pressing across his middle. The pain isn’t getting worse, but it’s not getting better either.  </p><p>Nyla looks over at him again, and he forces a smile onto his face. It’s more genuine than he’d expected, the intensity of the afternoon breaking some of the tension between them, but the ache in his ribs makes it hard to smile subconsciously. </p><p>“How’s she doing, anyway?” Tim finds himself genuinely interested in the answer. He’s seen Nyla’s daughter around the station a few times; she’s a cute kid and seems to charm any room she enters.  </p><p>Besides, he knows well enough to know that the best olive branch he can offer, the best way to build bridges with any parent is to ask about their kid. So he turns his head to look at Nyla, notices the way her face lights up when he mentions her daughter. </p><p>She changes lanes, following the signs for the hospital, and starts telling Tim about her latest weekend with Lila. He focuses as best as he can around the dull throbbing in his head, but has to admit that the conversation is better than constantly trying to find the upper hand. </p><p>He might be finishing his shift in the emergency room, but at least now things are a little bit less silent, and a little bit less awkward. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word Counts, pre-shooting: Tim, 47; Nyla, 38<br/>Post-shooting: Tim, additional 18; Nyla, additional 32<br/>Totals: Tim, 65; Nyla 70</p><p>Exclusive of words they say to people other than each other. Like I said, slightly fudged, but the tension breaks there act the end and things change a lil bit</p></blockquote></div></div>
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